


La Mejor Atracción, El Hombre del Dragón

by mothquake



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bloody Vomit, Brainwashed Hanzo, Brainwashing, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Kidnapping, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Talon!Hanzo, Talon!McCree, Vomiting, attempted suicide, past relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7959382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothquake/pseuds/mothquake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Overwatch mission quickly goes wrong when Hanzo's comm fuzzes out in static. No signs are left of Hanzo being present in the vicinity, and his comm has been left on the ground, next to a puddle of blood. </p><p>Hanzo is presumed dead by everyone, but Genji and McCree don't give up their search for Hanzo. A year of no clues and desperation pass, and they finally get their breakthrough. To their horror, Hanzo is Talon's new lap dog. The star agent, pre-trained by the Shimada-Gumi, and now brainwashed to blindly obey them.</p><p>McCree does the unthinkable and joins Talon to get Hanzo back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter sets the ball in motion for the events.  
> The title's meaning comes into play much later, so pelase bear with me as I have most of the fic written down in ideas and a timeline already, but typing out chapters is hard. Slight writer's block. I hope you enjoy and tolerate my slow progress on the fic. I do hope to update once a week but no promises.
> 
> More tags and characters will be added as the fic progresses.
> 
> Chapter 2 covers the main details of Hanzo being kidnapped.
> 
> Anyhow, see any mistakes ? lemme know ! :) I hope you enjoyed the read. There will be more to come.

_“ The best attraction, the Dragon Man”_  

* * *

            It was an early morning for McCree, a long smoke, and what seemed to be a long sigh among the comforting smell of cherry blossoms. It was so wonderful, and time seemed to move so fast until the mission briefing.

           He sat quietly as Winston spoke, pointing to the board next to him as he explained their mission. It was just a simple one. Escort a VIP from one city to another. He hummed very quietly to himself while he cleaned Peacekeeper on the table. No one seemed to mind. Next to him, Hanzo sat quietly, arms crossed over his chest. If McCree didn’t know better, he would think Hanzo was asleep. The archer was actually picturing the entire mission in his head, visualizing the entire thing for a better understanding of everyone’s positions.

           “-and we want to keep our guard up. We don’t know how many hostiles there will be, if any.” Winston’s voice was quiet, almost tuned out as McCree worked. He had learned from his Blackwatch days that he had to listen while cleaning Peacekeeper around other people. Reyes had made that _very_ clear; he always scolded McCree about it and lectured him among crude nicknames.

           “How do we know there will be any hostile parties?” Hanzo suddenly asked.

           McCree saw Winston push his glasses up a bit as he looked to Hanzo. He grunted softly, and then picked up the file he had left on the table, flipping it open and turning a few pages.

           “He was vague, but he said that there was someone who is trying to sabotage his business, and he has already had an attempt at his life,” Winston sighed, flipping a paper again, “and one of his executives ended up leaking information on confidential company information to the person who wants to sabotage him.” He put the file down on the table again.

           McCree glanced to Hanzo--god _damn_ he had such a nice jawline--and chuckled a bit as Hanzo gave a small understanding nod, and glanced to McCree and let out a small “hmph” of pride when he noticed McCree admiring him.

           Across from the two, Lena made a dramatic face at the two flirting. Winston either didn’t notice, or ignored it completely. He continued the briefing.

           Once the briefing was over, McCree had finished reassembling Peacekeeper and slipped her into the holder at his hip. He stood and stretched, groaning as he felt his back crack. He then cracked his knuckles on his flesh hand, and looked over to Hanzo, who also was standing, and now stretching.He was about to say something when another voice chimed in first.

           “Hanzo, McCree. I would like to check your prosthetics before the mission.” It was Mercy of course. Ever since things settled down after word was out that Overwatch had reassembled, she had been the angel on everyone’s shoulder telling them to come in for checkups and physicals to make sure they were in tip-top shape. McCree liked to think she was excited about everyone being together; old and new.

           “Sure thing doc.” McCree smiled, tipping his hat to her as he hooked a thumb through a belt loop. He looked to Hanzo and watched as the man nodded quietly. They watched the doctor smile and rush off, no doubt to her office.

           “So, Hanzo, think anything fun will happen?” McCree asked.

           “Fun for you is not usually good when talking about a mission.” Hanzo said, looking up at McCree as he raised an eyebrow. He chuckled when McCree gripped his chest over his heart, pretending that he just got wounded.

           “Darlin’ you’re so harsh.” McCree said, chuckling as he began to walk with Hanzo at his side.

* * *

           By the day of the mission, Hanzo and McCree had gotten their prosthetic limbs checked, and everything checked out A-OK. Hanzo and McCree spent a lot of time together as usual, practicing before the mission in the shooting range. Of course, McCree did a bunch of fancy things while he shot; he made dramatic poses, exaggerated his shooting even more by adding a “pchoo” “bang!” or even a “yeehaw!” as he shot and reloaded. He always looked back to Hanzo, delighted to see the usually stoic man chuckling at the display of such childishness from McCree. He could feel butterflies in his stomach and his heart grow warm, knowing he was only one of the few who could make Hanzo smile and laugh like that. 

           An hour and a half before they were to leave, Hanzo and McCree showered to freshen up after target practice. While drying up, McCree admired Hanzo’s sculpted body. His defined shoulders, muscular back, defined backline..Shame there wasn’t more time to admire it all. McCree continued to dress himself in clean clothes once Hanzo finished dressing. When he wasn’t paying attention, Hanzo was watching him.

* * *

            Everyone met up on the landing deck: McCree, Hanzo, Mercy, Tracer, Zarya, and D.Va.

           “Alright, this shouldn’t take very long. We should all be home by tomorrow. I’m glad you all look like you’ve gotten a good night’s rest.” Mercy said, smiling at everyone as they all got on the helicopter to meet up with their client.

           Once everyone was seated, McCree relaxed, holding onto Hanzo’s hand. Everyone in the base knew McCree didn’t enjoy flying, no matter what he was in. It was just scary. He felt Hanzo’s hand squeeze his; that small hand squeezing his larger. He loved Hanzo. He loved how small Hanzo was compared to him, and loved how easily he could make Hanzo lose his composure in the blink of an eye. He leaned over just a bit, and planted a small kiss on Hanzo’s cheek. It wasn’t new news to everyone in the base that Hanzo and Jesse were together. Genji was the main culprit of spreading the word after the one time he’d walked into Hanzo’s room (which had been left unlocked by accident) and found them in an ungraceful and rather unsexy position. In Genji’s defense, they both had had their mouths full, and were very quiet.

           Hanzo seemed to be comforted by the kiss, though still kept an iron grip on Jesse’s hand as they felt the helicopter take off.

           The rest of the ride was either quiet or filled with small idle chatter. McCree had fallen asleep with his head on Hanzo’s shoulder. He snored softly into Hanzo’s ear. Any other time and Hanzo would have pinched his nose until he woke up, but right now it was welcomed by Hanzo as a noisy distraction from the flight.

           Once they landed, McCree woke up as if on queue. It was mostly just from previous experience in Blackwatch. He stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes a bit as everyone soon stood and met up with their employer under the landing deck.

           As everyone geared up to get ready to leave, Hanzo and McCree talked. McCree always treated each mission as if it would be their last, because who knew what could happen. Unexpected things could happen, and the mission could go wrong, and people could die.

           Hanzo never really liked it once he found out why McCree did it, even if he knew it was because of some thought in the back of his head, drilled into him ever since Blackwatch that _what if this was the last mission? What if I die?_ It saddened Hanzo just a bit, that McCree had something as terrible as that drilled into the thoughts in the back of his head. It was understandable, yes, but sad. He remembered McCree telling him that he was only 17 when he joined Blackwatch; a time where he was too young, too foolish, too young to have seen a lot of the things he had already seen. Hanzo recalled a story McCree shared, half drunk, and half asleep, where he’d seen some person’s head “explode,” as McCree had put it, when they were shot with a shotgun. It saddened Hanzo that McCree sounded like he was making small talk, even if he was a bit drunk. Violence was no stranger to them both, but from the sound of it, McCree had seen violence from a much younger age than Hanzo. He listened to McCree’s soft words and returned the affections, chuckling a bit as he gave McCree a reassuring kiss on the nose.

           “It will take a lot for me to die, McCree. You need to stay focused.” He said, stepping away from McCree. The cowboy nodded in response, tipping his hat as everyone approached.

* * *

           The mission was going well. They had escorted their employer halfway to the destination when Talon interveined. The mission had broken out into a hell zone of bullets; it was something McCree couldn’t really remember. The entire fight was like a room filled with smoke in McCree’s memories. The last thing he remembered was something that snapped him back into reality.

           It was Hanzo’s yellow hair ribbon.


	2. Keep it Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree struggles to keep himself together. He feels like he's dying. Mentally, he is, but the only thing keeping him grounded is the yellow ribbon on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts from Hanzo's POV, goes to McCree's, and then back to Hanzo's.
> 
> ALSO SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDE MENTIONS/SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/MENTIONED ATTEMPTS AT SUICIDE.
> 
> McCree has anxiety attacks and cries. He does not cry like a pretty boy. He's the full snot and tears bundle all in one cowboy.

            The first shot had been fired; it was a shot straight at the vehicle  McCree, Hanzo, Mercy, Tracer, Zarya, and D.Va were escorting. Luckily, the vehicle was heavily armored already, but that didn’t stop everyone around it to stop, and the vehicle to follow suit.

            Zarya had to calm their employer, whose shouts could be heard over the panicked shriek of civilians and gunfire. She made him roll his window up, and soon the “real fun” began. Hanzo saw McCree light a cigarillo, soon pulling Peacekeeper out of her holster and take aim. Hanzo soon nocked an arrow, aimed at an assailant on a rooftop, and drew back as much as he could. He released the arrow, watching the small projectile fly through the air, and hit its mark. He ignored the whistle that came from McCree, and soon jumped up to kneel atop the vehicle. He stayed stationary, nocking an arrow and looking around among the chaos. He could feel someone’s eyes on him, but he had no idea where until a bullet grazed his cheek. Were it not for the moving car, it probably would have gotten him in the forehead. He ignored the pain, and quickly shot an arrow in the direction that the bullet came from, but the shooter was already gone. 

He could hear the sounds of the rest of his team firing and talking over the comm, but he tuned it out just a bit as he jumped off the car to follow Zarya when she asked. Something felt off, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. It bothered him, but he mentioned nothing of it. 

Hanzo and Zarya follow a hostile into a small side street, chasing the gunman as he scampered and cleverly used things like trash bins and other vehicles as cover from arrows and the energy beam from Zarya’s pulse cannon.

“Do not play into the enemy’s hands. We are being lured awa--” Hanzo’s words were cut off by a black smoke, and then a sudden impact to his temple. It had not been enough to knock him out, but it was enough to disorient him and start a headache. Hanzo stumbled and grunted, bumping into Zarya who was still in front of him, but now facing him. The tall Russian woman has spun around immediately when she had heard his voice get cut off mid sentence. She caught him as he stumbled and quickly shot a beam at the smoke. The smoke dispersed and soon formed into an actual form against the wall. It was Reaper. 

Hanzo felt fear as he turned his body to see Reaper. The Dragons felt nothing, but something in his instincts screamed for him to be careful, be defensive…

“Got’cha.” Reaper’s deep voice growled.

Hanzo shivered, still dizzy. He could hear the footsteps and soon see a large black group of people around himself and Zarya. It was Talon grunts, all clad in the same black uniform. It almost looked like riot gear, however, it was clearly more durable if the leg, knee, chest, arm guards, and dark helmets with a tinted visor were anything to go by. 

Next thing he knew, there was a loud noise; the sound of several shotgun fires seemed to echo in his mind. It was almost deafening when added to his headache. Hanzo felt an impact against his stomach, knocking the wind right out of his lungs as his knees buckled. He heard the sound of his bow and (no longer nocked) arrow hit the ground.

Wait--that wasn’t  _ just _ an impact. Hanzo looked down, and through blurry vision saw an armored knee draw away, and a sharp pain, throbbing, stinging... _ aching _ , as a small blade withdrew from his stomach, the edges of it red hot. A heated blade. There was little blood; the blade had cauterized his injury shut almost immediately when the knee made contact. Fuck, it hurt so much.

It was then that he realized Zarya was gone. He didn’t feel her behind him anymore. For a moment, panic, and soon he was reaching to ask for her location in his comm.

            Reaper laughed; Hanzo knew Reaper was laughing at him, and he did not realize why until all he got was static. 

_ Dread. _

It was a trap, and he and Zarya fell for it.

Hanzo would have scolded himself for it; scolded himself for falling for such an easy, textbook trap, but before he knew it he felt another impact to his head, and soon to the back of his neck, to his brain stem. The extra headache sucked, but soon he was out like a light from the hit to the back of his neck.

* * *

            McCree was caught up in the gunfight, open firing at anything that moved that wasn’t Overwatch or a civilian.

Panic and adrenaline were in full control of McCree’s body. He worked in a system.  _ One, two, three, four, five, six, reload, repeat.  _ Ever since he had been in the Deadlock Gang he’d learned that no matter what weapon he had, he had to count the bullets. As long as he knew how many bullets were in the magazine, and as long as he had spares, Jesse McCree was a force to be reckoned with when he had a gun. 

He heard Zarya’s request for Hanzo to follow her. McCree kissed Peacekeeper as he reloaded, and began to shoot again. A silent good luck to Hanzo.

It wasn’t until what seemed like seconds later (it wasn’t) that he heard Hanzo’s voice crackling horribly in the comm that followed static that he got worried. For those few seconds he had heard Hanzo’s voice, his lover sounded panicked.

_ Five, six. _

As McCree reloaded, he looked to where Zarya had asked Hanzo to follow her. They both were gone, but he soon heard her voice over the comm.

“I have lost sight of Agent Hanzo! Reaper spotted!” She yelled into her comm over the sound of more gunfire.

McCree almost tuned her out, but Reaper’s name caught his attention. He had heard the name before. Winston had mentioned the wraith-like man. Winston had said that Reaper was a high danger enemy, and could transform into a sort of fog or smoke.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and soon he was running, screaming into his comm, “HANZO!!!! HANZO!!!!!” while his voice cracked. 

McCree staggered, tripping as the toe of one of his boots caught on the spur of the other. He fell forwards, rolling over sideways with a loud shout of “FUCK” as he rolled again. He wasn’t sure if he was being shot at, but he couldn’t sit still or lie still. If he knew anything right now, it was that he had to keep moving  _ don’t stop don’t stop just get up and  _ **_MOVE._ **

Soon, McCree was springing back up, glancing to Tracer as she jogged next to him, offering as cover fire. She looked concerned, and was rightfully so when McCree saw it. He damn near puked in his own mouth, but not from seeing something gross, no. It was confirmation of his worry, his fears, his anxiety. Hanzo’s yellow ribbon on the ground, sitting in a small pool of blood next to the discarded and broken earpiece for Hanzo’s comm.

“HANZO!!!!!!!!!!!”

“McCree!!” Tracer gasped.

McCree had no idea when he’d fallen to his knees. He had no idea when he’d started crying, and he had no idea when he’d thrown up.

His heart was racing and he wasn’t sure what he felt, if anything. Was it anxiety? Anger? Fear? Panic? His heart raced, or was it stopped? His stomach lurched, threatening to push up whatever he hadn’t already thrown up. He soon threw up again.

When had Lena gotten there? When had the gunfire stopped? When did it get so  _ quiet? _

“McCree… McCree… You need to see this.” A voice pierced the ringing in his ears, distracting him from the gross taste in his mouth and how nauseous he felt. Distracted him from the snot and tears dripping down his beard and cheeks. When he looked to see who had distracted him, he saw Mercy. She was pointing to the wall parallel to him.

On it was words in blood. He could only guess that it was Hanzo’s. It was sickening.

“COME AND GET ME” read the bloodied words on the wall.

* * *

            McCree felt sick the entire rest of the mission, and the entire trip back to base. The mission was a success on paper, but to him, he’d failed. He’d failed. He’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed.

He was quiet when he got back to the base, ignoring how worried everyone looked. He sealed himself in his room immediately, only letting Genji and Zenyatta into his room. He ignored what Zenyata had to say, and Zenyatta didn’t seem to mind. Zenyatta dismissed himself shortly thereafter.

The rest of the night was quiet, save for McCree spinning cylinder of Peacekeeper anxiously with shaky hands. Genji was quiet as well, listening to McCree fidget. 

The next day, McCree woke up but felt like he didn’t get a lick of sleep. He didn’t even remember much of anything from the previous night, but Zenyatta said that McCree had had 4 episodes of just screaming and crying. Zenyatta also said that McCree had tried to shoot himself 7 times during and in between the episodes. That would explain the mess in his room, and the even more concerned looks on everyone’s faces. He didn’t like it, but didn’t show it. He wanted to die. He had let Hanzo down. He’d failed.

“McCree,” Athena’s voice rang softly around him, “we are searching for Hanzo.” She said.

McCree could only nod in response.

“We have also concluded that it was Reaper’s intention to only take Hanzo. We are looking into why, and where he could have taken Hanzo. The chances of him being alive are very high. The message left behind for you suggests that Hanzo will be kept alive.” She continued.

For once, McCree disliked how calm she always sounded. Usually he found it soothing, calming, but now..Right now he felt like she didn’t care.

“I’m gonna kill ‘im.” McCree growled dangerously, speaking in a low tone. His accent always got thicker when he was angry.

“I’m gonna kill ‘im and take Hanzo home where he belongs.” McCree said, suddenly no longer feeling guilty and hopeless. He was angry. He was going to get Hanzo back and make Reaper pay for this.

* * *

            Somewhere, Hanzo was in a dark room. He felt cold. He was cold everywhere, especially his ankles, wrists, and waist. He could feel cold steel pressed against his bare skin. It hurt. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear anything. His eyes felt dry.

Suddenly, a bright image appeared in front of him and a booming voice sounded. A simple monotone voice, preaching about Talon and its ideals in a way that would flatter anyone who didn’t know Talon was a terrorist organization.

He tried to close his eyes; it felt like they were being kept open. They were indeed being kept open. Hanzo scoffed at the primitive chair he realized he was in, but primitive as it may be, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t cover his ears, and  _ holy shit _ the voice was loud.

He let out a muffled noise--wait? Muffled? He hadn’t noticed a cloth in his mouth, wet with his own saliva.

Hanzo could do nothing but watch and listen for what felt like hours.

When it was dark and quiet again, Hanzo was in a daze, ears ringing and pupils dilating in search of light. He never found any.

Something wet touched his eyes. Eye drops.

He heard a deep laugh--Reaper.

What felt like hours later, the noise and light was back.

Hanzo tried to free himself again, but to no avail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was excited about the first chapter being out and ended up writing some more. hmu if you see any errors !! 
> 
> also, my tumblr is yangirekun.tumblr.com if you've got any questions about this fic. I am more likely to see it there than here.
> 
> this is also when no one in Overwatch knows that Reaper is Gabe.
> 
> When I first thought of this fic it was before word got out that Hanzo has real legs, so in this fic he has prosthetic legs. I may or may not touch on how Hanzo lost his legs later in the story. It depends on how derailed i may get from the timeline i've already written up.
> 
> Another quick note: I don't even play Overwatch because of personal problems as well as the fact that this game is expensive.
> 
> AND. NEXT CHAPTER IS WHEN EVERYONE WILL ASSUME HANZO IS DEAD. I will touch on that don't worry.


	3. Lost Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree finally begins his search for Hanzo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a longer chapter! Was 5 pages long in the google docs document I have it in (though I typed it in Verdana 12 font) but the other two chapters were around 3 pages i think? Either way, I hope you enjoy. This went without beta reading because of length and I felt the need to get this chapter out before writer's block hits me in the face.

            As five months passed, the search for Hanzo was painful as hell for McCree. He searched tirelessly with Genji and Zenyatta; the Omnic monk refused to leave Genji’s side. He empathized with the two of them strongly. He understood hurt, pain, and the loss of someone close. McCree was mighty thankful for the Omnic’s support of their efforts. Even after Winston and almost everyone else at the base had said the chances of Hanzo being alive were slim, McCree ignored them. Genji did too of course. He still harbored a small but visible wariness around his brother, but he was blood. He was the only family Genji had left and the loss was painful. He knew Genji did not want to believe that Hanzo would have (or could have) been taken so easily. 

            Five months of more searching for Hanzo alone with Genji and Zenyatta, and nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. 

            It pissed McCree off. It pissed him off so much, he didn't realize that he was about to light his fifth smoke until Genji’s cybernetic hand swiped the fat thing out from his lips. At first McCree was angry, but his look softened when he saw Genji’s visor was off, and saw Genji’s piercing eyes glaring, tears in the corners. His heart sank.

            “Do **_not._** ” Genji said in a low tone, warning. 

            “You will kill yourself before we can even find my brother.” He sharply added. It was so strange. He had not heard Genji speak in such a serious and almost dangerous tone in years. He may act carefree and cheerful, but just like his brother, he was a Shimada. Their father had run an entire illegal empire. Of course he could sound just as dangerous as Hanzo if he wanted to. 

            “‘M sorry, Genji.” McCree put his lighter away, coughing a bit. At the moment, it really did feel like his smoking would kill him before they found Hanzo. 

            The night and next month’s nights were quiet after more failed searches. Genji, Zenyatta, and McCree had all decided to stay camping outside. Genji and McCree were not in the mood to be around other people, even if in a hotel room for the evening. 

            At some point in the early morning, McCree was woken by the sound of Genji noisily shifting around in their little tent and speaking softly. He groaned, putting his hat over his head as if the hat alone would block out the noise. 

            “McCree…McCree,” Genji whispered softly, a metallic hand rested gently on McCree’s shoulder, “we are being called back. Winston wants us back for a mission.” He said. 

            McCree laid quiet for a moment, before he removed his hat and sat up to put it on his head. He rubbed at his beard as a cooler air came in; Zenyatta was looking into the tent, and gave a nod of greeting to McCree, who could barely see the Omnic were it not for the biolights covering Genji’s body. 

            “Don’ wanna. I jus’ wanna find Hanzo.” McCree said after a few moments of silence. He soon picked up his serape; it had been used as a pillow. Despite saying he didn't want to leave, he began to pick up his things anyway. 

            A silence was shared between student and master, and Genji let out a sigh. 

            “I fear…” Genji’s voice quickly went silent, hesitating. 

            “I fear that Han-that Hanzo is no more. If Talon really did want us to find him like the message inquired… We wouldn't be here right now. We would have more clues.” 

            Oh.

            McCree wanted to retort, but he knew he couldn't. A small voice in the back of his head had been saying the same thing for the past few months. Did that make him unfaithful to Hanzo? He chewed the inside of his cheek and Genji continued. 

            “McCree we have been searching for five months. I do not want to rely on what could be a false hope searching like this. I would rather think Hanzo dead, so I don't feel disappointed every night that we couldn't find him. O do not want to be angry at myself. We have done our best, McCree. It is time to let go.” Genji clearly struggled to say what he did. McCree watched Zenyatta float over to comfort his student, placing metal bands on Genji’s shoulders and gently rubbing in lieu of gentle rubs. 

            “Genji. I can't do that to him. I know he's alive. He's gotta. An’ if you ain't gonna help me search I don’ mind searchin’ for Hanzo alone.” McCree said. 

            “I'll find ‘I'm if it's the last thing I'll ever do.” His tone was almost threatening. McCree didn't want to give up. He owed Hanzo that much. He hadn't been there to protect Hanzo from being taken. He knew it wasn't his fault, but a little devil chewed at his thoughts, threatening him.  _ It's all your fault. It's all your fault.  _

            Silence filled the tent for what felt like hours. 

            Genji finally stood, and at first McCree thought that Genji was hopeful to find Hanzo again, but he just let out a small grunt. 

            “McCree this is not healthy.” He said. 

            For once, Zenyatta seemed to be unable of what to say. He had remained quiet the entire trip as McCree had noticed. 

            McCree and Genji stared at each other, and soon McCree stood as well. 

            “I ain't goin’ back.” He said matter-of-factly. He crossed his arms to emphasize his statement. He even gave Genji a small but harmless glare. 

            “What about Overwatch? What about the people we could help? Maybe we can't find Hanzo… But what if we can help someone find someone they love that they lost?” Genji asked. He almost sounded like he was going to make a speech. 

            McCree shook his head though. In this moment; in the very time he had spent with Hanzo, his world revolved almost completely around the man. 

            He was, after all, an ex-member of the Deadlock gang. Heroism wasn't fully important… At least not in a situation like this. He had to get Hanzo back--no, he  _ needed _ to get him back. 

            “Y'all can head back. I'm gon’ keep searchin’.” McCree grumbled, rubbing at his beard. 

            From the corner of his vision, he could see Genji and Zenyatta exchange glances of worry, no doubt.

            “Fine. At least clean yourself up then before we leave.” Genji said, defeated. He knew how stubborn McCree could be. 

            McCree tilted his head, but then nodded. He knew he looked like a mess. His beard had gotten out of hand; it felt like he had a bush on his face, and his hair was longer and knotted. He didn't really mind the stink of his dirty clothes and hat, but he knew he  _ should _ wash them. 

            “Yeah. Sure. I guess we can.” McCree said after a long time. 

* * *

            The beard and hair was easy. He had a small razor blade he kept in his pocket. A little water and soap and he was carefully cutting at his beard by a river. It wasn't an easy thing since he didn't have a shaving gel, but it worked. He got a few cuts but that was to be expected. He cleaned off the blade and then carefully dried it on his serape, and slipped it into his pocket. He soon began to strip, and once everything was set out on the grass he began to clean the clothes, and soon washed the armor. When it came to his prosthetic he carefully removed it, scowling as he held it. He didn't realize how grimy it had become. He would need a real good scrub on it to get it clean. 

            While McCree worked on refreshing himself and his clothes, Genji and Zenyatta cleaned up the camp. They quietly spoke to each other in hushed voices, worried for McCree. Genji soon came to a conclusion to continue helping McCree on his search. 

            “McCree,” Genji walked over to McCree as he cleaned the prosthetic arm. He chuckle a little at the scene in front of him.

            “I will continue to help you look, but I will do so from Overwatch. I can monitor many places from there for you and we can keep in touch anywhere.” He said, watching McCree. 

            The cowboy made no sound of acknowledgement; he was busy scrubbing vigorously at his prosthetic with one hand, and holding it between his naked thighs. 

            “You are hairier than my father ever was. Genji commented. He was glad that it brought a deep little chuckle from McCree.

            “But your stomach could use some work.” He joked. McCree chuckled more. 

            “Naw. I'll need it to stay warm.” McCree said, patting his hairy belly. 

            “Hanzo ain't never had a problem with my stomach.” He said. The thought of Hanzo dampened his mood. Nice one, McCree. He grumbled to himself and sighed, soon movie the prosthetic around to clean the other side. 

            Genji was quiet as well, soon meditating with Zenyatta while they waited. 

            McCree took his sweet, sweet time. When he had nothing to do but wait for his clothes to dry, he laid back in the grass, staring at the sky. He missed Hanzo. He missed feeling the man’s weight over his flesh arm. He missed the warmth against his side of Hanzo’s smaller body. He missed their legs tangled together when they would sleep and wake up. All thoughts of Hanzo soon became a tidal wave of emotions; regret, anxiety, fear, worthlessness, hope, and yet at the same time he also felt hopelessness. Suddenly, dread hit him again like a freight train.  _ What if Hanzo was dead and he just refused to believe it? What if he was just clinging to this false hope? _

            McCree growled to himself, running his hands through his hair--his hair. He stood, and then began to bathe himself. He almost forgot that his hair was greasy. The water helped him get out the tangles, but he had nothing to cut his hair with. Maybe he could tie his hair up if he found a rubber band. 

_             Fuck.  _

            Typing his hair up just like Hanzo. 

            McCree bit his lip and continued to wash his hair off in the water. He didn't have shampoo, but the water alone was enough for him to feel a little more refreshed. He shivered as he got out of the water and laid back down. At least now he couldn't tell if he was shaking from the cold or anxiety. Maybe it was both. He laid still for several minutes, just thinking about the places he’d go to look for Hanzo, and soon reached his hand over to feel at his clothes. All dry. Good. 

            He soon stood, putting his prosthetic arm back on and then picking up the serape and rubbing at his back to rub off dirt and anything else that might have stuck to his back and ass while he was lying down. He soon quickly put on his clothes, and then his chest piece. Last was his boots and their jingling spurs. 

            He had to find Hanzo. He just  _ had to. _

            He let out a loud sigh, taking out a cigarillo to smoke. He puffed at it for a while, looking around as he smoked. 

_             Inhale……… Exhale.  _

            He blew a few smoke rings, relaxing some bit as he smoked and listened to the water. Were it not for his current situation, he would have really been enjoying this. Perhaps he would take Hanzo here once they reunited-

            “McCree are you ready?” Genji’s voice was sudden, making McCree jump a bit in surprise as he was pulled from his thought. He had not even heard Genji walk over. He finished the cigarillo, and then tossed the butt on the ground, smothering with the heel of his boot in the dirt.

            “Yeah. I’m ready.” He said. Well, ready as he would ever be.

* * *

            Their travel back to Gibraltar was fast. They quickly made their way back to Gibraltar. 

            Once they were at the base, they were greeted as warmly as they could be. It wasn’t a lot but McCree appreciated that everyone there acknowledged his and Genji’s efforts. He could do without the pitiful looks, though. 

            He let Genji explain everything to Winston; the plans he and Genji made that McCree would continue the search and Genji help from the watchpoint. McCree watched Winston’s face go through a rainbow of expressions as he spun the cylinder quietly, tapping a finger against where bullets would be. Currently, Peacekeeper wasn’t loaded.

            There seemed to be an awkward silence once Genji finished; McCree could hear his heart beating in his ears. He spun Peacekeeper’s cylinder faster, not bothering to count. He slowly inhaled, and then exhaled before he spoke up.

            “Either way, I’m leavin’ to go keep lookin’ for Hanzo. You can’t stop me.” He said, snapping the cylinder back in place and sliding Peacekeeper into the holster and swiftly making his way out of the room before WInston could tell him no.

            He heard Winston say “okay” as he turned to go down the hall. He tipped his hat a bit, and left the base. Time to search for someone he  _ knew _ would find him. Reaper. From what he could tell, the wraith had indeed been searching for former Overwatch members. He had no idea why he took Hanzo, but at least he could make himself known to the wraith. It would attract public attention as well, but there was nothing he could do about that. It was easy enough to get away from basic Talon grunts and wannabe bounty hunters.

            McCree lit a cigarillo as he tapped his foot on the ground, pondering where he should begin his search.


	4. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but I wanted to get this out ASAP since it's been a while since I last updated. I promise to make up for it in the next one! I want to make it long since this was unbearably short. The actual plot is finally kicking in though.

           Now that McCree had time all to his own, it was time to stir up trouble. He took a ride on the first train he could to travel to the nearest big city. From then, all he had to do was drag attention to himself. Knowing he was still wanted with a large bounty still on his head, it was easy. Stir up some trouble, intentionally get his face on a few cameras, and hopefully Reaper would come after him. He soon settled down on a bench in a public park, smoking quietly as his metallic hand gently tapped against Peacekeeper in her holster.

           Reaper was a no show.

           The next day he continued to cause a fuss of his appearance in the city. He even had a few bounty hunters arrive to try and have a go at his life, but he quite literally shot them all down.

           He suddenly got a comm from Winston.

 

> _[McCree, what are you doing?]_
> 
> _[Tryin’ to find the moron who took Han.]_
> 
> _[McCree there must be another way. You’re attracting neg--]_
> 
> _[Winston, I know what I’m doin’.]_
> 
> _[...Very well. Be careful. This is probably the dumbest idea You’ve come up with in a while.]_
> 
> _[You know it.]_

           McCree clicked his tongue, and pushed his hat up a bit to look around. He soon wandered over to a bar; god knows he needed a drink or two. He sat down at the bar, ignoring the few people who stared at his back.

           It was strange. The past two days he had been overly active in trying to drag attention to himself. Perhaps Reaper _knew_ it was a trap.

_Inhale….. Exhale._

           McCree flicked his cigarillo, letting the ashes fall to the sidewalk in front of the bench. He closed his eyes, taking a lazy drag from the cigarillo. He chuckled a bit to himself as he remembered something he heard back in his Blackwatch days, and exhaled.

_“McCree, when will you stop smoking those fat fucking cancer sticks?!”_

           It had been no one he was particularly familiar with, but he remembered the two of them laughing as he lit the “cancer stick” to start smoking.

           A sharp click pulled him from the memory, and he felt something cold pressed to the back of his head. Ah, a bounty hunter.

           “You’re pretty dumb to let your guard down like this.” A voice said. It was a man, by the deep scratchy sound of the voice.

           “Well, I’m known to have some pretty bad ideas,” McCree chuckled, saying nothing as he dropped the cigarillo on the ground next to the bench. As it fell, McCre was quick to stand and spin around, metal arm gripping the bounty hunter’s wrist, squeezing tightly.

           From the quick motion alone, McCree could tell that this guy was new to bounty hunting; he was startled from such a swift movement from McCree, and the tight grip on his wrist from the metallic hand was painful. The gun he held was dropped soon after, but McCree kept the grip.

           “You best pick up your gun and walk away, partner. It was stupid for you to think I let my guard down.” McCree said. He narrowed his eyes at the man. He was young, definitely, if that scruffy little stubble and bright look in his eyes was anything to go by. This kid had a future ahead of him.

           After McCree saw a small nod, he let go of the wrist and the kid picked up his gun and scurried off. He looked like he was about to piss his pants.

           McCree stood there for a while, before he picked up the cigarillo he dropped. He sighed, dusting it off with his fingers as if it would clean the thing, and then he took a drag from it since it was still lit. The park was quiet again, and he seemed to be the only one there. Made sense. The big sign _did_ say that staying in the park after dark was prohibited. It seemed that it didn’t stop the occasional homeless person from sleeping on the benches. When he was finished smoking, he left the butt on the ground, stepping on it with his heel and rubbing it against the ground to smother whatever was left. He soon began to look for a place to lie down and sleep. He eventually settled for a place along the wall surrounding the park. It was behind a large stone statue on one side, and under a tree on the other, so he was well hidden for the night. There would only be one way for an assailant to come get him, and that was up close and from where McCree would be facing front when he did lie down.

           He took off his serape, and then spread it out over the grass so it wouldn’t poke and tickle him in his sleep. He then laid down on it and sighed. Now comfortable, he soon closed his eyes and began to doze off to sleep. He slept deeply, as usual for him, but any outside noise would easily wake him, courtesy of training with Blackwatch.

           That fact went unknown by the person currently calling him at what McCree quickly found out was 2:47 in the morning. The sound of feedback in his comm was alarming, making him jump up from where he laid. He yawned and quickly answered.

           Before he was able to say anything, not even a tired “hello,” he was cut off by an excited Genji. He was blabbering quickly about something, but the only thing that caught McCree’s attention was three words.

           "I found Hanzo."


	5. Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself for some sad feels.
> 
> McCree finally gets allowed into Talon, and he will bear every bad moment of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW holy crap I know I promised a long chapter.... This is 4,662 words I got really carried away aaahhhh !!
> 
> Enjoy ~ well, as much as you can. Things are only going downhill from here. See that slow burn tag? Yeah. Don't worry, by the end of Part 1 I promise they will have kissed more than once.

            One year has passed since McCree had started looking for Hanzo. It was a long, painful year too, but a small bit of good news was enough to lift his spirits. If only it hasn’t been shot down by the bad news.

* * *

            “You  _ found _ him?!” McCree asked, scratching just under his jaw at his beard.

            “I--yes!!! Yes!!!!” Genji said excitedly. He quickly got quiet, however, and said that there was bad news.

            Of  _ course _ there was bad news. There always was in situations like this. Just like the movies.

            “McCree, are you there?” Genji’s voice asked. He sounded worried.

            “Huh, oh yeah. What’s uh.. What’s the bad news?” McCree asked. 

            “Hanzo...He…..” Genji made a small noise.

            “He’s working for Talon. I spoke with Winston. It looks like he was brainwashed….” Genji’s voice faded to nothing behind McCree’s suddenly swarming thoughts.

            He felt like someone had just punched all the air out of his lungs. His head spun with the idea that Hanzo was working for Talon now. How could that have happened? Oh, right. Brainwashing. He held his breath for a moment. He could feel that he was about to cry. No wonder they hadn’t been able to find Hanzo in all that time! How long did it take for them to brainwash him? How much did Hanzo resist? Were Hanzo’s memories erased? Would he be like Amélie? Completely devoid of emotion?

            “Oh my fucking god..” McCree whispered. What if Hanzo had gotten that weird thing done with his heart too that they did with her?! McCree repeated what he had said again, and again, and again. Each time he repeated himself he knew he sounded more and more panicked, or frightened, maybe? 

            “Oh my god Hanzo…”

_             “ McCree! _ _”_ Genji’s shout was loud, and very,  _ very _ firm.

            “We need you to come back. We are going to work on how we can get Hanzo back. Please, McCree. Try to focus. We need to get my brother back. We need to bring Hanzo home and we can’t do that without you.” Genji said softly. Somehow, Genji seemed to be keeping his composure. It made McCree scowl. Of  _ course _ Genji would be keeping his composure. He probably still harbored bad feelings about what Hanzo had done.

            McCree slapped himself for even thinking that. 

            “Alright, alright. Yeah. ‘M comin’ Genji. Be there as soon as I can.” McCree said. He fished around for a cigarillo and lit it, and began to shake out his serape while he puffed. He would have to hop on a few trains and keep a low profile. Easy.

* * *

            Once he was back at Gibraltar, he was met with gazes that felt like daggers. He wondered why until he walked into the debriefing room. 

            “So ya noticed.” He commented, eyeing the news articles and clips of videos talking about how the “Outlaw Jesse McCree” had suddenly jumped up in activity that was less than subtle. 

            “McCree. What in the world were you doing dragging all this attention to yourself?” Winston asked, a sharp tone of irritation and disgust in his voice. 

            “Well, I  _ was _ lookin’ for the jackass who stole Han-”

            “-Language, McCree!” Angela interrupted. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she glared daggers at McCree. Well, rubber daggers. 

            “Sorry Ange. The  _ jerk _ that stole Hanzo.” McCree corrected himself. He knew vulgar language was something she didn't like, but he always let the vulgarities slip past anyways whether she was there or not, especially when he felt anything but neutral or happy. 

            “Anyhow. Don't lecture me about what I done. I was hopin’ Reaper would come after me like he did everyone else. Didn't work. So, tell me about Hanzo. That's why you asked me here ain't it?” McCree plopped himself down in a chair at the large table, and soon everyone else who was in the room did the same, save for Winston, who didn’t need a chair to be comfortable. He had a tire lying on the floor that he usually sat in.

            “We now know that Hanzo is working for Talon,” Winston started, pointing to the wall as a picture appeared on it; he pointed at it as he adjusted his glasses and continued, “and that he has clearly been brainwashed. We assume they have some sort of motive for this.” Winston didn’t have to mention her. Everyone in the room save for Genji knew who he was talking about. The people who knew all adopted almost a sad look, and some looked to the table, fidgeting with their fingers. McCree tried to stare a hole into the table. McCree knew Genji was probably confused, but Genji didn’t vocalize or even show his confusion. Perhaps he didn’t catch on? 

            “So, our objective is to find Hanzo and rescue him as soon as we can with as little trouble as possible. The problem remains that we do not know where Talon’s headquarters are.”

            “Easy. I’ll join ‘em.” McCree blurted the words out without even thinking. He wasn’t surprised at all the surprised and concerned looks that he was given.

            “Look, that’s the only way we’re gonna find out where it is quickly.” McCree said.

            “McCree, I am not keen on this idea. In fact, this is dumber than what I thought was a dumb idea before.” Winston said, closing his eyes and rubbing his face with a groan. McCree couldn’t hold back the chuckle.

            “I have to agree with both of you: Winston, McCree.” Genji said, nodding his head. He was leaning forward a bit, intrigued by McCree’s idea.

            “It is a foolish idea, very dangerous too… How do you plan on infiltrating Talon?” Genji asked. Even if no one could see it, there was a distinct amount of worrying, and no doubt he had his brow furrowed in said worry.

            “Well, I uh.. I thought maybe if I  _ do _ pull some heists n’ shit once I leave. I can still attract Reaper.. But uh, not t’ interrogate him. I can ask him about joinin’ Talon?” McCree himself hadn’t even thought of anything, but it sort of made sense.  _ Sort of _ .

            “McCree, we are not letting you join Talon it’s too dangerous-”

            “-Genji’s right. That may be our only way to quickly find out where Talon Headquarters are. I hate the idea just as much as you do, Angela, but it is perhaps the fastest and only way.” Winston interrupted. He snorted a bit as she scoffed at him, but she sat back in her chair, brow furrowing in worry.

            “McCree, you are going to make me get frown lines.” She said quietly.

            Everyone in the room took that as her (reluctantly) agreeing to the outlandish idea. THe conversation continued on.

            “So, McCree, you plan to continue to...Act out more. So you can catch the attention of the Reaper and lure him out to you?” Genji asked, turning to look at McCree.

            “Well, sure. Ain’t no other way I can think of gettin’ his attention. Besides, the world sees me as an outlaw anywho, so I don’t suppose it matters if I join Talon or not now. To them, anyway.” McCree said.

            “Thing is, I don’t know how much of a potato they’ve made Hanzo.. Er,” he looked at Genji, who had tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, “I don’t know how much of him is gone.” He said softly to clarify. Genji’s shoulder slumped.

            “But that don’t mean he’s gone, gone.. I hope not.” McCree went silent.

            “You’re saying you’re not sure how long you will be in Talon.” Winston said.

            “Yeah. That about sums it up.” McCree confirmed.

            McCree pulled his hat down to cover his eyes a bit. He knew what looks he would be getting. He was betting that Genji was surprised, Angela was worried, Winston would be worried too, Zenyatta would remain stoic as ever while worrying, Zarya would probably be a mix of worried and wanting to congratulate him for his bravery, and D.Va would probably be in awe, and tell Lúcio after the meeting. He would probably be really surprised

            A long and awkward silence filled the room, and McCree could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He eventually looked up, knowing he couldn’t avoid their gazes any longer. He lifted his hat, and was surprised to see that everyone in the room appeared to be supportive of his choice, even if it was a terrible idea that could go wrong at any moment should he fuck up.

            “So then you realize how much danger you are putting yourself in?” Angela asked.

            McCree wrinkled his nose. Of  _ course _ he knew. It always slightly annoyed him when Angela asked questions like that after the answer had been said out loud several times, but he could understand her worries, and held his tongue against anything snarky he might say.

            “Yeah. It’s a risk I’m willin’ to take.” He said quickly. He reached to his side to gently run his fingers over Peacekeeper, and took a deep breath.

            “And before you say anythin’, I know how much this is gonna f-- _ mess up _ my bounty. It’s gonna skyrocket now that I’ve killed some people goin’ after me. I reckon now it’ll help me get into Talon. Just gotta prove I’m as heartless as them, right?” He nodded to himself. He began to think hard. Would he be able to get out of this mission alright? He never really considered it; how he would end up after this mission, should it fail or succeed. What if Talon really did brainwash him the way they did with Amélie? His stomach churned. He almost missed what Angela said.

            “McCree. Just be careful. At some point, your bounty will go up so high you will have trouble hiding yourself. Even with fake identities.” She warned.

* * *

_             “What is your name?” _

_             “My… Name?” _

_             “Tell me your name.” _

_             “I am….” _

_             Silence. Who was he? Who was the man in the white clothes sitting in front of him? Why did he feel so cold? _

_             Everything went black, and suddenly a loud noise surrounded him. A loud, piercing ring. It hurt his ears. Why was this happening? Who was doing this? Where is he?? _

_             “Where am I?” Hanzo shouted, suddenly, finding himself thrashing in whatever he was sitting in. A metal chair? _

_             “Tell me your name.” A calm voice spoke. It was the same voice of the man he saw earlier. _

_             “Why are you doing this?!” Hanzo shouted. His question went ignored. _

_             “Your name.” The voice said firmly, yet still remained calm. _

_             “Agh, can’t you hear that awful noise?!” Hanzo growled. _

_             “Just tell me who you are. There is no other sound but you and I.” The voice said. _

_             Hanzo could feel something warm and wet trickle down his ear and then his jaw. He felt pain.  _

_             “I’m bleeding.” _

_             “Tell me your name.” _

_             “I…” Hanzo got quiet, trying to recoil from the sound. _

_             “Hanzo. Hanzo Shimada.” _

_             “Very good, Hanzo.” The voice said. Hanzo could hear the smile in the stranger’s tone, and suddenly the ringing stopped. Hanzo was relieved. He relaxed a bit in his chair, and suddenly he could see again. The man before him was now standing in front of him, smiling happily. He gently pat a soft, warm towel against Hanzo’s forehead. He had not realized he had been sweating. The soft towel was soon gingerly being pat against his ears, and Hanzo could see the blood as the towel was drawn away, replaced by cold. _

_             “I--I’m cold.” Hanzo said. _

_             “I am not surprised. You are not fully clothed, Hanzo.” The man was still smiling, and soon he was out of Hanzo’s sight. _

_             Hanzo was alone again. Alone in the dark, with nothing to see or hear. He had lost track of time. He wasn’t even sure of who he exactly was, or what he was doing in the metal chair and dark room. He remembered seeing pictures, though. He saw pictures of rotting corpses, burning buildings, men wearing black firing at other men in black. He remembered seeing something else, too. Hanzo had begun to call it Home. He had no idea why, but it looked like home to him. _

_             It was a large building in both width and height. It looked like a business building, though with tinted windows. Hanzo liked looking at Home. It was the only thing that wasn’t filled with death and corpses that he saw. _

_             He missed Home, even if he had never been there before. _

_             The next time he saw the man in the white clothes, Hanzo began to ask about Home. He was happy to see that the other man was happy too. He was promised that he would get to go Home soon. That’s what he said 7 visits ago, but every time Hanzo remembered that whenever he asked about Home, the man was happy. It made Hanzo happy. It meant that he wouldn’t have to hear the screeching noise. _

_             “Do you remember your name?” _

_             “Yes. I am Hanzo Shimada. Will I get to go Home?” _

_             “Soon. I am so proud. You have made wonderful progress, Hanzo. The better you do, the happier you make me, and the happier you make me, the sooner you get to go Home.” The man chuckled. It was a warm chuckle. Maybe sort of a giggle too? _

_             Hanzo gave the faintest smile. He was excited to go Home. _

 

            It had been a long time since Hanzo had gone Home. He quietly enjoyed it, and while he mostly kept to himself, he enjoyed it. Now, he had a bed. He had a small closet in a small square room, and someone named Reaper let him turn an unused storage closet into his own personal rec room after a few months of him being at Home, and providing a wonderful track record on the missions he was sent to. Hanzo had set a small table in the middle of the room, and then two chairs in it as well. If Hanzo was not in his room, he was usually in his personal rec room reading a book from the small library that was provided. He often found himself looking through books that he could not read, but he enjoyed looking at the foreign characters or letters anyway. Anything was enjoyable when he was at Home. he did not speak Spanish, nor did he speak French, but he still looked at the words in books of those languages and others because he could spend time doing it. He never seemed to find Chinese, Japanese, English, or Korean books, though. He didn’t find it strange though. There was no need to question that. Why question it when he was already provided with something right now to look at?

            Hanzo looked up from his book as he heard someone walking by. Uneven footsteps, an awkward gait. It was Reaper.

            “Enjoying yourself, Shimada?” The wraith’s guttural voice always sent a shiver down Hanzo’s spine. A small shiver of...Not fear, but he felt inferior.

            “Yes.” Hanzo said simply.

            “Do I have another mission?” He inquired, closing the book in his hands. He put it on the table and stood. It was a rhetorical question. He knew he had one. He only ever saw the wraith when he got a new mission.

            “You’re working with me on this one.” Reaper growled as Hanzo approached the door.

            Hanzo paused briefly, but then continued his stride. He watched Reaper closely as he passed the taller man.

            “I look forward to working with you.” Hanzo said, grabbing the black case he stored Stormbow in, along with his quiver and arrows.

            Once they got their mission, Hanzo was quick to change into his mission attire. It was familiar to him, but he wasn’t sure from when, nor did he care.

            When Hanzo and Reaper were on their mission, Hanzo saw a blur of silver and green. He watched it for a moment, but the silver and green blur soon left his thoughts, even as a shuriken flew past his face, just barely missing him.

            The shuriken looked familiar.

* * *

            McCree took more time on his own to cause more trouble, and soon, he found himself encountering a bounty hunter every other day, despite his constant travels. His bounty had blown up, as predicted. It was beginning to get a little harder to just easily evade the bounty hunters and kill them, but McCree continued to surprise them and himself at how he could easily adapt to a change in a fight.

            It felt like it had been forever, but it seemed fitting. McCree had been smoking in a dark alley on a cold evening, when he heard the sound of heavy boots and an awkward gait move closer to him.

            McCree suddenly dropped the cigar from his mouth, drew Peacekeeper, and cocked her all in one fluid motion. He was met with the white mask Reaper wore, and a cloud of smoke forming into the rest of Reaper’s body. The wraith laughed.

            “Easy,  _ cowboy _ . You caught my attention like you wanted, right? The hell do you want?” His multitone and somewhat echoed voice seemed to pierce McCree. It sounded so strange an inhuman… Well, he supposed that that was what Reaper was.  _ Not human. _ Reaper’s condescending tone was irritating, but McCree felt he shouldn’t comment on it. The creature  _ was  _ a mercenary hunting down ex-Overwatch members...Well, and current Overwatch members who were veterans.

            “Took you long enough to get my message, partner.” McCree chuckled, still holding Peacekeeper.

            “Whatever. Tell me what the fuck you want. You are already trying my patience.” Reaper growled.

            “Talon. I want in.” McCree said, lowering Peacekeeper and de-cocking her. He was now glad that all those years ago he had practiced the motion.

 

_             Hold her steady, put a thumb between the rear sight and hammer, hold the other thumb against the hammer and ready to push, and gently tap the trigger, remove your thumb and let the other thumb gently push the hammer forwards until it clicks.  _

_             Many times, McCree remembered practicing the act when he was with the Deadlocks. Being stupid with your gun wasn’t an option, and McCree learned the hard way when one day he did it wrong, timing was off, and the firing pen hit the back of a bullet that had yet to be shot. It ended badly, and McCree had learned his lesson.  _

 

            “A runt like you?” The wraith asked, masked face tilting sideways just a bit. It reminded McCree of a dog, almost, and it was somewhat familiar. He had no idea why. Couldn’t place a finger on it.

            “A  _ runt _ like me don’t got this here lovely bounty fer nothin’.” McCree sneered, pulling out one of his recent papers with a picture of him, and the bounty. 80 million. Angela’s words echoed in his head.  _ At some point, your bounty will go up so high you will have trouble hiding yourself. Even with fake identities. _

            Reaper was quiet, considering, and then nodded slowly.

            “We’ll see. What, Overwatch too flowery for you?” Reaper asked. He sounded like he was mocking, but for some reason, McCree felt the mocking wasn’t directed at him.

            Well, this was the start.

            “You could say that. My trigger finger’s been itchin’ for a good kill.” McCree said calmly.

            “Oh really?” Reaper suddenly sounded smug. Why?

            “Yep.” McCree hummed. 

            “Fine. Prove it.”

            “How?” McCree asked. His careful eyes watched the wraith approach him, but soon the white mask was gone; Reaper vanished into smoke.

            Suddenly, McCree fell to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

            McCree woke to a dimly lit room. It was large, and once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed it was the inside of an old school building. He was inside an old gymnasium, though the floor seemed to have a clean, sleek layer of wax on it, reflecting every little bit of light.

            He groaned, and went to rub his hair out of his face, but nothing happened. It took him a moment to realize his prosthetic arm was missing. The only thing left was Peacekeeper. He could see her sitting on a table in the middle of the floor. Faint light reflections showed that the table she rested on was in the dead center of the basketball court. Further observation also showed that on the other side of the room, sitting on the bleachers was a dark figure that McCree couldn’t quite see. He squinted as the figure rose to their feet, and soon a familiar cloud of smoke joined them. They approached.

            “So, you want to join Talon, McCree? Prove it. Shoot this man in the shoulder.” Reaper’s voice echoed horribly in the large room.

            McCree stepped closer, suddenly realizing his spurs were gone. As was his hat, serape, and his armor. He suddenly felt very naked.

            “Sure thing.” McCree grunted. He walked through the awkward feeling of nakedness, and picked up Peacekeeper, relieved at her familiar weight. It didn’t take him long to notice that there was only one bullet. He tilted his head, but didn’t question it. Well, shooting a man wouldn’t be hard now would--

            It.

            McCree held his breath as Reaper and the stranger came into view.

            It was Hanzo.

            It took every ounce of self restraint McCree had to force himself to stand still, cock Peacekeeper, and aim. He didn’t trust his voice to say anything for a long time.

            “Any time, cowboy.” Reaper said.

            McCree chewed on his tongue. Aiming in the dark wasn’t too difficult on his trained eyes, but aiming at his target was the problem. Did Reaper want him to  _ kill _ Hanzo?

            Reaper shifted a bit, and then McCree took the shot, closing his eyes as he held a firm grip on Peacekeeper, doing everything in his power to stand still, not move, and not drop the revolver.

            There wasn’t a sound as Hanzo was shot aside from a low grunt.

            When McCree opened his eyes, he saw Reaper and Hanzo standing where they were though Hanzo had a firm grip on his now bleeding shoulder. McCree had aimed for the man’s right shoulder. It might impair his ability to draw the bow string, but it wouldn’t damage the tattoo, and it didn’t kill him.

            “Good job.” Reaper said, shoving Hanzo forward. Hanzo made a quick walk to the doors, and pushed one open to leave the room. McCree could feel the glare from where he stood, and he took a slow, deep breath in. He had to keep his composure. He had to.

            “Well. Welcome to Talon.” Reaper said, soon turning to smoke and wisping out of the room like a ghost. It wasn’t long before some two grunts lead McCree to a small room. It had a cot that he barely fit on, and a dresser with two drawers for clothing storage. It felt like a prison room, but he made it. Somehow.

* * *

            “Hey, Hanzo.” Reaper’s voice easily filters through Hanzo’s thoughts. 

            Hanzo puts down the book he was staring at, raising an eyebrow at the man standing in the doorway to his room.

            “What is it?”

            “There’s some runt who wants to join Talon,” Reaper sounded like he was talking to a baby, and perhaps that was the point. He didn’t wait for Hanzo to react before he continued, “and you’re his entrance exam.” The wraith said. He sounded far too amused than he should have. Hanzo couldn’t help but feel uneasy, but he still agreed. He trusted Reaper.

            “You remember how I told you about that kid I picked up a few years ago from his pretty little gang?”

            “Yes.”

            “It’s him. Poor kid must miss it.” There was that amused tone again. Hanzo ignored the hairs standing on end on the back of his neck.

            “The crime?” Hanzo inquired.

            “I suppose.” Reaper  _ laughed _ . He actually laughed. 

            They walked into a large gymnasium in another building, the rookie building, and then walked over to the unconscious man on the floor in the middle.

            “He’ll wake up soon. What a sight for sore eyes.” Reaper said. He pressed his boot against the man’s face, moving his head for Hanzo to observe his features. He looked like shit. Complete and utter shit.

            “Cowboy.” Hanzo spat.

            Despite that, he found that he did not dislike the man on the floor. He just found the man odd looking. 

            “I’m going to ask him to shoot you. He will pass if he does, and if he doesn’t? Well, you get to shoot him.” Reaper said, nodding his head towards the table with Peacekeeper on it.

            “A revolver. You jest.” Hanzo was surprised. Who used a revolver? Dinky thing with room for only 6 bullets? Though, he supposed the same could be said about his bow.

            “Shut up.” Reaper growled.

            Hanzo immediately went silent, and soon they sat down on the bleachers. Hanzo couldn’t help but notice the way Reaper continuously was half solid and half smoke in appearance. Was it excitement? Or did he really just have that bad control over how often he shifted between his forms? He dare not ask.

            When the man woke, he seemed dazed. Hanzo rolled his eyes. What a fool. Hanzo watched as the man tried to do something with his stump. He assumed a prosthetic was there, given the man’s face when he realized nothing happened. Fool. 

            Hanzo scowled, rolling his eyes as he observed. 

            A quiet grunt queued him to stand.

            “So, you want to join Talon, McCree? Prove it. Shoot this man in the shoulder.”

            “Sure thing.” The stranger, McCree, stepped closer, revolver now in hand.

            Hanzo let out a sharp but quiet exhale that was almost childlike in nature. That Southern American accent was already getting on his nerves, and the man had only said  _ two things _ .

            Hanzo narrowed his eyes as the revolver clicked, and was aimed at him. The man was hesitating? He gave a sideways glance to Reaper, doubt on his face. Of course the wraith didn’t do anything, but Hanzo did note that Reaper suddenly was able to keep a completely solid form again. Disappointment, perhaps? Hanzo looked back at the stranger.

            “Any time, cowboy.” Reaper was impatient. Hanzo restrained himself from a snicker he knew would have come out, had he not known self restraint.

            After another hesitation, he was shot. 

            He grit his teeth in pain as the bullet wedged itself in his shoulder, and a hand instinctively grabbed at the wound. Too deep. He couldn’t pull it out on his own. He let out a low growl. The man really didn’t look it, but he was a good shot. 

            “He’s in.” Reaper hummed. He was satisfied. 

            Hanzo had to admit, this guy, McCree, was a good shot. He underestimated his talent. He would not make that mistake again.

            He as quick to leave. The pain was only so bearable.

* * *

            The day had been strange, to say the least. McCree was exhausted and stressed. Hanzo didn’t look like he recognized him. He even _ shot _ Hanzo. Fuck, he knew the other members of Overwatch knew about his relationship with Hanzo, but he didn’t realize people outside of Overwatch knew. Unless Reaper just happened to find out. It wouldn’t be that surprising. He was probably being hunted by the mercenary too. As was Genji, most likely.

            McCree spent the night crying from the stress and anxiety, and barely got any sleep. Luckily, he was told prior to his emotional break that the next week or so would be uneventful for him. He was apparently going to be getting his own uniform soon for Talon. Nothing special, but he was to be examined physically by the medic working for Talon, and he would be outfitted with a new weapon. McCree didn’t like the sound of that, but it seemed he would at least be able to keep Peacekeper. With no ammo, it was hard for her to be useful.

            He couldn't believe he had shot Hanzo.


	6. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree starts getting used to Talon, but the constant puking is messing him up.
> 
> Meanwhile, Hanzo likes blood, craves praise, and watches McCree.

            The first day of him working for Talon, McCree was more or less alone. He stayed in his room unless he was eating, and kept to himself. He kept his eyes on the floor as he walked, and couldn’t help but notice the blood. Blood almost totally littered the floors of the wing where new Talon members were roomed. The blood was clearly dry, and had been waxed over. It was disgusting. It reminded him of memories he’d preferred to be left alone.

            The food was okay. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good. It seemed almost like he was given leftovers. It left a bad taste in his mouth at the end of the day, but come next morning, he was still hungry for it. He knew he had trained himself to more or less be able to eat anything he could, but it just seemed...weird. He felt weird. Maybe it was the lack of a window in his room. He had a headache.

            Among the first week of him being in Talon, McCree had thrown up twice. There was blood in his vomit but he swore nothing hurt, and he felt okay, aside from some dizziness. Maybe it was the new uniform. It hugged his form a little too much, and not in a flattering way. He had a small bit of belly poking out from under his new chestplate and above the lining of his pants. He would have to do something about that, but the black clothes weren’t ideal to exercise in, with how tight they were and the fact they only made him hotter and hotter. That didn’t stop him from exercising, though. Small exercises fed his hunger, helped him a little with his little tummy problem. 

            As he ate, however, he realized he really disliked the food, but still wanted more. He finished his food, got up, and put his food tray away after discarding his dishes to their appropriate bin to be cleaned later. He wandered around the halls, wary of the eyes that were always on him. He wasn’t trusted anywhere alone, so he was assigned a grunt to basically stalk him. He wasn’t allowed to be anywhere without his little escort, if he could call them that. 

            He kept his eyes to himself the entire time he walked around, though sometimes he couldn’t help but have his eyes wander. He didn’t see Hanzo anywhere. He sighed, and continued his walk, feeling a lurching feeling in his stomach. He stopped in the hall, groaning as he leaned against it. He felt like he was going to throw up again.

            And throw up he did.

            McCree scowled at the floor, and at the puddle of bloody vomit that was now sitting there. With a mix of what he just ate, too, it looked gross. He rubbed his mouth and began to walk back to his room, when the familiar cloud appeared in front of him. He stopped for a moment, and watched as Reaper appeared.

            “Having trouble keeping your food down?” The wraith mocked.

            “What do you want?” McCree grumbled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He spat on the floor and turned his attention to Reaper, watching as the man just waved a hand at his little “escort” to leave.

            “I want to talk. Well, no. We _ need _ to talk.” Reaper said, raising a clawed finger and making a “follow me” motion as he turned and began to walk down the hall opposite of here McCree had intended to go.

            McCree followed. It was strange, something felt so odd and familiar about Reaper. He didn’t know why, and it bothered him. What did he want to talk about?

* * *

            Hanzo quietly wandered the halls, light on his fe despite the prosthetics. He was happy where he was, despite now showing it. He decided to linger near the mess hall. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the man who had shot his shoulder, and he decided to quietly watch from afar. The man looked like a mess. He chuckled to himself, and continued to follow. The new prosthetics he had were nice. They were made of sleek carbon fiber steel with sharp edges and beautiful curves. He appreciated the workmanship in them, and they felt. They were comfortable to wear, and easy to travel in.

            He noticed McCree throwing up. He made a disgusted look as he saw it was blood and clearly whatever slop he had eaten in the mess hall. He wrinkled his nose at the sight and walked away. Someone was bound to know already and around this wing, Talon had some sort of sick satisfaction waxing over the (bloody) puddles. Perhaps it was to scare the newbies. Hanzo made a note that that was the third time he had seen McCree puke up blood. It was a lot of blood in total, especially since it was just McCree throwing up. He had watched the gunslinger ever since he joined, holding a form of grudge from being shot (even though he had agreed to it). None of the puddles of blood McCree had made were from fights. Any fights he had been in were short and sweet, with McCree on top. Hanzo had made a note that the man was not only good at shooting, but also formidable in hand to hand combat. More so than the other new recruits.

            Hanzo found himself in his own personal rec room later in the day (Reaper had for some reason, given Hanzo the room to use freely to his own will, courtesy of Talon). He had seen McCree walk off with Reaper, and left the two to their privacy. He knew the history they had. Former Blackwatch teacher and pupil, as Reaper had told him. He also knew McCree had been apart of the infamous Deadlock Gang. He found information about McCree easy to gather, especially with that bounty on his head. 

            Hanzo quietly tinkered with his arrows, carefully sharpening one after another until he got to the blunt Sonar Arrows. He carefully made sure everything with them was properly secured, with no wires poking out.

            However, his mind could not keep wandering to those bloody puddles and the source of them. He was surprised to say he had a slight concern for the cowboy. He would not be in any shape for missions. A shame.

            He took a sip of the Jasmine tea he was drinking, and continued to make sure all of his arrows were intact. He was pleased that they were, and turned his attention to a quiver that leaned against the wall. The quiver in question was a black leather, with a softly padded strap that sat comfortably on his waist when he used it. It was Talon issued arrows. They were cruel little things. It made Hanzo smile devilishly. He loved shooting people, and watching those silver serrated blades slice through flesh. What was even more pleasing, was the screams and blood of the poor idiots who tried to yank it out the same way it went in. Because of the serrated blades (Hanzo was told they were inspired by a stingray’s stinger; backwards serrations for an easy entrance, but painful removal) anyone foolish enough to not notice would pull the arrow backwards and out, only for the blades to catch on flesh and pull and tear their flesh. Hanzo reached for the black quiver, and carefully set the arrows in front of him on the table. He soon went to work carefully and meticulously began to sharpen them with a sharpening stone. He was careful, holding the arrows with steady and trained hands as he sharpened their heads. He was careful not to ship the blades, and was satisfied when he finished. He reached for his tea, but it had gotten cold. 

            Hanzo frowned, and then went back to admiring the serrated arrows. He ran a finger gently over one of the blades, and was satisfied to see the sharpness. The blade, despite very little pressure being applied, easily cut through the first layer of his skin like butter. No blood was drawn, and Hanzo felt giddy. He couldn’t help the grin he felt sneak onto his face; he was thinking of any victims of the arrows. He imagined people, aiming at them, shooting, and watching them struggle to remove the intrusion from their body. He was always praised for his work in caring for his weapon and using the arrows he had been so generously given. Hanzo was happy to continue using them. He wanted to see his prey struggle and cry. He wanted to see the looks on their faces when realization hit them that removing the arrow would be difficult. He wanted the praises of his higher ups the same way he wanted the praises from the Elders of his clan from years long passed. He craved the praise and satisfaction of doing a job well done, and nothing felt more rewarding than seeing the please smile of half-masked men, all saying “Good work, Hanzo.” to him.

            Hanzo realized he loved to see blood. He loved to see the blood of allies and enemies alike. He liked to see  _ McCree’s _ blood. He wanted to see more of it.

            Hanzo shook his head and took a deep breath as he stood. The stony glare returned to his face as he set his weapon aside, left the room and punched in the lock code, and he walked to his room. He had a mission tomorrow, and needed rest. 

            Hanzo dreamed of blood.

* * *

            McCree coughed. Smoking right after he puked up blood was a bad idea, but he still did it. The wraith didn’t seem to mind.

            “So, what’cha wanna talk about?” McCree asked, looking over Reaper.

            “It’s been a long time,  _ Jesse McCree _ .”

            The fondness in Reaper’s voice took McCree by surprise, and for a moment, he thought he heard Reyes. But no, that wasn’t possible.  _ Reyes is dead. _ Jesse reminded himself, blinking the surprise away as he took a long a drag from the cigarillo. He exhaled the smoke toward Reaper, and the wraith let the smoke dance around him as he reached up to remove his mask.

            Jesse nearly dropped his cigarillo.

            “I got worried when I saw you answered the recall. Glad I trained you well. I knew you’d come crawling after me.” A menacing smile met McCree’s wide eyes.

            “Boss.” McCree gawked. 

            “The one and only.”

            “The fuck happened to ya?” McCree asked. He was sure that, if in a different situation, he would be reacting to Reyes’  _ face _ , but he was too stunned at the fact that (1): Reaper turned out to be Gabriel fucking Reyes, (2): said Gabriel Reyes was working for Talon (albeit as a mercenary), (3): He was the one to recruit McCree to Talon, and (4): Gabriel fucking Reyes was  _ alive _ .

            “Boss.. I-” McCree felt a wave of nausea, and turned away to puke on the floor. It was all blood again.

            “Ah, seems you’re reacting well to the food.” Reaper smiled.

            “Reyes, I-”

            “It’s Reaper.”

            “... _ Reaper _ . How the fuck are ya alive?” McCree asked rubbing blood off his mouth.

            “You can thank the  _ good doctor _ Zeigler.” Reaper spat, scowl appearing on his… What was left of his face.

            McCree felt really sick, but not because of Rey-Reaper, his current state, or the fact he was alive and hadn’t told him. He felt sick because he had just puked up blood again.

            “Well. That can’t be good. How much do you eat?”

            “Uff… Two helpin’s?” McCree groaned, shooting a weak glare to his old commander when he let out a gruffy laugh.

            “Explains a lot. You always were a pig. Welcome home. You know why you’re puking?”

            “No..?”

            “Because it helps keep you here with us. Looks like you don’t need it. You’re mine now.” Reaper laughed, and dissolved to smoke as McCree toppled over and blacked out, thinking not of Reyes, but Hanzo. Had that been why Hanzo was working with Talon now, aside from reconditioning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished this chapter up as part of the Goretober prompt, Too Much Blood. Hence the title and Hanzo's small POV section, and McCree. I already had the puking up blood as a thing in my timeline, so it all works out ! I will add more details about the food later.

**Author's Note:**

> To find updates on the fic, find my [#LMAEHDD tag on my tumblr](http://yangirekun.tumblr.com/tagged/LMAEHDD)
> 
> As another note: Yes, part 1 will have a pleasant ending with Hanzo and McCree together, but do not expect it to be soon (as of chapter 6). There is **a lot** of the timeline I have pre-written that is untouched. Stay tuned for angst and a few McHanzo interactions. Part 2 will continue to be happy. This entire fic will have a happy ending.


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